Riding along one Sunday afternoon in the great metropolis of Mascotte, Fl. A cage beat us to the end of the four-lane and then turned left. We passed on the right and crossed the white shoulder line. About 200 feet ahead a cop with handheld radar! He waved us over, did the whole license/registration thing, and then proceeded to lecture Softhog about following me while I broke the law, etc.,etc. Then called his buddy sitting in the patrol car to ask which bike to impound, her black or my orange? They agreed they already had enough black! About the time I was ready to say give us the tickey and get it over with, they both started smiling and going on about what great bikes we were riding and sent us on our way. I still mind my manners in Mascotte!